


Coincidence

by renaissance



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>coincidence</b> • n. <b>1</b> a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection. <b>2</b> correspondence in nature or in time of occurrence.</p><div>
  <p>
    <sub>The Concise Oxford Dictionary, Tenth Edition, p. 278</sub>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Coincidence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soliari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliari/gifts).



> To say I had fun writing this would be an understatement. To say it took up all my spare time and consumed my consciousness would be slight hyperbole, but accurate in sentiment. Ampersandy, I cannot thank you enough for your excellent prompts. Had I the time, I would have perhaps indulged and filled more than one. Instead, this one got way out of hand. I really enjoyed writing it, though, so I hope you enjoy reading it too!
> 
> A note on continuity: while this story takes place after the events of the anime, I have tended to avoid reference to any specific spoilers. Still, if you haven't read the manga, perhaps better safe than sorry.
> 
> A warning: this story deals with mental health issues, in particular with anxiety. Please exercise caution when reading!

When Tooru gets frustrated, he’s like a child. Well, that’s what Iwa-chan says. Iwa-chan is frequently and spectacularly wrong about a lot of things, but when he’s right, he’s _right_ , and unfortunately, he can read Tooru like a book. Iwa-chan also says that Tooru has been in a crappy mood for the last few weeks, and “not just because we lost to Shiratorizawa again, I know there’s something else, dumbass.”

Sure, maybe there _is_ something else, but they definitely did lose to Shiratorizawa again, and Tooru sort of thinks he didn’t spend enough late nights watching replays of their past matches, but that’s _also_ Iwa-chan’s fault, because he was like, “don’t stay up past midnight, blah blah blah, it’s unhealthy, blah blah blah.” Iwa-chan can go to bed at ten like a grandma if he wants to. Tooru’s got better things to do with his life than spend it with his eyes closed.

Anyway, it’s not like anything’s changed. They’ve lost to Shiratorizawa before, and if he’s being realistic, Tooru might even say they’ll do it again.

Not if he can help it, though.

Iwa-chan thinks it might be about Chie. Apparently it’s normal for people to feel down after a break-up, and maybe if Tooru was _normal_ he might have gone a few days with no company but a box of tissues and a constant soundtrack of sad music. Instead, he spent a few hours in his room watching match replays and forced himself to go to Little Tykes and look after Takeru and his friends, and he got over it.

He still sees Chie around, and she’s not exactly mean to him, but Makki said he heard her tell her friends that “all Tooru-kun cares about is volleyball—if he likes volleyball so much, why doesn’t he just _go out_ with volleyball?” Tooru thinks Makki’s making that last part up, but he has no proof.

Chie’s wrong—he cares about things other than volleyball. If anything, Chie is the one who has a one-track mind, since _she_ dumped _him_ , presumably to spend more time on baseball. She’s their team captain, after all. Why else would she have given up such a sweet and charming boyfriend?

“So it’s not Shiratorizawa, and it’s not Chie,” Iwa-chan says, rolling his eyes. “Anyone would think that you’re actually just a five-year-old having a sulk for no real reason.”

“Don’t be silly, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says.

“I’m not _being silly_ , you arrogant shitlord,” Iwa-chan says.

His foul mouth is as endearing as it is offputting. “My my,” Tooru says, “who taught you such bad words, Iwa-chan? No wonder you’re not as popular as me!”

“Shut _up_ ,” Iwa-chan says. “Just once. Just _once_ I want to stop you from making a stupid mistake before it happens. You’re in one of your moods, okay, I get that. If you want me to talk to Chie—”

“ _Iwa-chan_. I told you!”

“I know, you told me not to be silly. I’m being _serious_ ,” Iwa-chan says, punctuating his sentence with a shove to the side of Tooru’s head.

Tooru sighs, fixing his hair where Iwa-chan so cruelly disturbed it. If Iwa-chan weren’t his best friend, he wouldn’t have to put up with such unnecessary violence.

“It’s got nothing to do with Chie,” he says, trying to sound a bit more serious. “It’s nothing, really.”

Maybe he’s trying to convince himself, more than anything. Maybe there _is_ a reason why he feels like someone’s ripped out his heart, and they tread on it every time the feeling begins to wane—it’s a weird mix of frustration and, perversely, longing. Although it’s not a sentimental longing; it’s a yearning for something he felt once, and hasn’t felt since. He doesn’t particularly want to feel again, but he _needs_ to feel it again.

So maybe there is something going on.

“It’s nothing to do with Chie,” he says again.

Iwa-chan raises an eyebrow. “The way you said that makes me think you’re bullshitting.”

Tooru just smiles and hums, because he doesn’t know how else to explain it, especially not to Iwa-chan, who takes everything at face value, and hasn’t really got the hang of complex emotions yet. Or, if he has, he’s very good at acting dense.

“Whatever,” Iwa-chan says. It takes him a while to figure out that Tooru isn’t going to grace him with a response. “You’ve got to pull your head out. This can’t go on forever.”

Iwa-chan sounds genuinely concerned, so Tooru turns his smile up to eleven. “Come on! Stop being so mopey.”

“ _You’re_ the one moping,” Iwa-chan shoots back.

“Am not,” Tooru says, sticking out his tongue.

Iwa-chan sighs. “What are we going to do about this,” he says.

Usually, when Iwa-chan gets the idea that Tooru’s in a mood, he makes him go through the motions. Go to bed before eleven and get up at six, walk to the corner store and back, even though it’s closed, eat breakfast in the back garden so that he can hear the miniature fountain—which is meant to be _soothing_ —and then brush his teeth for exactly three minutes by the egg timer. And Iwa-chan calls him at seven to make sure he’s done it all, and to make sure his ringtone is set to something quiet.

It always works.

“We’ll do what we always do,” Tooru says, and with a nod, Iwa-chan indicates that he knows what he means.

So Tooru goes to bed at 10:59 and gets up at six, pulling on a light cardigan to pretend that the weather isn’t going to be so hot by the time the sun’s risen. It’s a short walk to the corner store—ten minutes there, ten minutes back—enough time for Tooru’s mum to be satisfied that he’s getting sufficient vitamin D exposure, and enough for Iwa-chan to be satisfied that he’s taken some time away from his thoughts.

Sometimes it all seems a bit ridiculous, the routine, the reassurance, but being out on the still streets, the sun low in the sky, the leaves shifting on the trees as he passes—it relaxes him.

He gets to the corner store and pauses, leaning against the wall to collect himself before turning back.

There’s an old man on the other side of the road and he makes to cross, but before he takes his first step a bicycle bell breaks through the morning’s quiet. Tooru hears the bicycle before he sees it, rising over the hill with a basket full of precariously-balanced scallions and a rider with a scarf streaming over his shoulders and his hair reflecting the sunlight like he’s just ridden out of a photograph in a magazine.

Tooru resents whichever divine power allowed someone to momentarily look more beautiful than him.

“Good morning, Honda-jiisan!” the boy on the bicycle calls.

As the bicycle passes the corner store, it only takes Tooru seconds to realise who the rider is, faster than Honda-jiisan can say “Good morning, Koushi!”

Tooru stares after the retreating bicycle with his eyes narrowed. So much for “getting over it.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m still at the corner store,” Tooru says, twirling his phone between his fingers.

“Could you maybe not do that,” Iwa-chan snaps. He sounds like he probably just got out of bed, which, given that it’s seven in the morning on a Saturday, is probably true. “Your voice keeps cutting out.”

“Re _lax_ ,” Tooru says. He has never understood quite why Iwa-chan gets so annoyed when he puts their calls on speaker and then plays with his phone. Iwa-chan is usually so supportive of the little things he does to keep his mind off other things.

“Let me try this again,” Iwa-chan says. “It’s seven. Why are you still at the corner store?”

“Because.”

“Because _what_ , dickhead?”

Because it’s seven and Honda-jiisan on his morning walk has been and gone, and Koushi still hasn’t appeared. Because for the last five days, without fail, Koushi has cycled past with a basket full of vegetables. If he’s noticed Tooru staring at him as he passes, he hasn’t reacted—but on reflection, maybe that’s why he isn’t here today.

Tooru decides he owes Iwa-chan the truth. “I’m waiting for someone.”

There’s a gross spluttering on the other end of the phone. “Slow down, Iwa-chan, you’ll burn your tongue!”

“Idiot,” Iwa-chan says. He pauses to cough. “How’d you know I’m drinking coffee, huh?”

“You shouldn’t have so much caffeine,” Tooru chides.

He can practically hear Iwa-chan roll his eyes. “Who are you meeting?” Iwa-chan asks, changing the subject.

“I never said I was _meeting_ anyone,” Tooru says. “It’s a wonder you can even keep up in class, Iwa-chan.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re _stalking_ someone,” Iwa-chan says. “Why am I not even surprised.”

Tooru runs a hand through his hair. “Ah, Iwa-chan is so quick to jump to conclusions! It’s not like that—”

“It is almost certainly _exactly_ like that. What’s her name?” Iwa-chan asks.

“I really can’t say, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says. “Not over the phone! Who knows who’s listening in?”

Tooru has never really talked about this sort of thing with Iwa-chan, not even when he was going out with Chie. Iwa-chan isn’t interested in romance. If Tooru tells him he thinks he might _like_ like someone, Iwa-chan will just change the subject, or hang up on him. That’s how it’s always been.

Although, Tooru can’t say for sure what he thinks about Koushi. He knows that Koushi is unearthly beautiful, but also that he’s infuriatingly level-headed and that he’s the best strategist on one of the most dangerous teams in the prefecture. He knows that Koushi always cycles past with vegetables at about 6:15 in the morning. He knows that he doesn’t know Koushi’s surname, because he doesn’t want to look it up on a team roster—that’d take away half the fun.

“Oikawa,” Iwa-chan says. “What’s her _name_.”

“Koushi,” Tooru says—quickly, before he can regret it.

Iwa-chan doesn’t respond right away, except for a contemplative hum. “Wait a second, isn’t that the name of—”

Tooru hears a bicycle bell from the bottom of the hill, on the other side of the corner store. “Oops, got to go!” he sings, flicking his fingers over the “hang up” icon on his phone and slipping it in his pocket. He can apologise to Iwa-chan later.

And just as the bicycle passes, Tooru calls out. “Hey!”

Koushi slows to a halt, and stares straight at Tooru. He looks adorable with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging slightly open. It makes Tooru want to kick something.

“Are you lost?” Koushi asks.

“No,” Tooru says. “The store should be opening soon. Do you want to get ice cream?”

Koushi looks at him like he’s mad. “You—do you know who I am? Or are you asking a stranger to get ice cream with you?”

Tooru tilts his head. “The fact that you asked tells me that _you_ know who _I_ am.”

“Oh?” Koushi puts a finger to his mouth in thought. “Maybe you should introduce yourself.”

Tooru can’t help the incredulous look that crosses his face in the moment it takes for him to collect himself enough to respond. “Oikawa Tooru,” he says.

“Of course,” Koushi says, like he’s just remembered, “you’re the captain of Aoba Johsai Volleyball Club.”

“And how do you know that?” Tooru asks, playing along.

Koushi extends a hand. “Sugawara Koushi, vice captain of Karasuno Volleyball Club.”

Tooru gives him the same smile he’d give to the opposing captain before a match and takes Koushi’s hand in both of his. Koushi looks a bit startled, but he shakes back.

“I can’t stay long,” Koushi says. “I have to pick up some daikons from the market.”

“My, dinner at your house must be interesting,” Tooru says. He really wants to know what the deal is with the vegetables.

“Well, yeah,” Koushi replies with a laugh. “My parents own a restaurant, and we live behind it. Dinner is always different.”

“Where is it?” Tooru asks, leading the way into the store and towards the ice creams.

He’s lived in this neighbourhood almost all his life, and he’s been to most of the nearby restaurants, if only because his mum likes to pretend she’s a bit fancy. She works from home, so it’s an excuse to dress up. Tooru doesn’t mind.

Koushi frowns for a moment, like he doesn’t know whether he should be giving away his address to a virtual stranger. Obviously, the answer is yes.

“Just three blocks South of here,” Koushi says. “Red brick. You can’t miss it.”

“I’ve been there,” Tooru says. “Three times, maybe.”

“Oh! Was it—I mean, was the food okay?”

Koushi is blushing a bit, and Tooru distracts himself by rummaging through the freezer as though he doesn’t know exactly what he wants.

“It was good,” he says, although last time they were there, his mum had caused a bit of a scene when she bumped into an old school friend and they loudly compared their successes in life.

They haven’t been back since, but Tooru can hardly blame her for starting the argument—she dropped out of school at sixteen to marry a famous and recently-divorced musician, then had a child and raised him solo when her husband died, and started an online business that finances her enough to eat out three times a week. Tooru is immensely proud of her. He might have got involved in the argument too.

“We got kicked out for making a scene,” he adds, looking over his shoulder with a grin.

“That was _you_?” Koushi asks. “My cousin works front of house—he told me all about this woman and her son who started a shouting match with another patron.”

“So my reputation precedes me,” Tooru says, pulling a vanilla ice cream from the freezer.

“Your reputation preceded you long before that anecdote,” Koushi admits, reaching over to grab a squid ink ice cream.

Tooru pulls a face. “Squid ink? Really?”

Koushi just smiles. No-one should be allowed to smile like that. Tooru wants to frame that smile and put it on the photo wall in his bedroom and never look at it again.

They pay in silence, and lean against the outside wall to eat.

“I should get going,” Koushi says. “My parents will be worried if I’m back too late.”

“Alright,” Tooru says. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

It’s almost like Koushi doesn’t know how to respond to that. He looks at Tooru like he’s trying to work him out. Tooru is almost certain he has the exact same look on his own face—for a moment he's back on the court at Sendai City Gymnasium, trying to guess Karasuno’s next move, only to have his predictions blown apart by unpredictable #2.

Koushi never does what Tooru expects him to.

“It’s a date,” Koushi says, winking.

Tooru’s eyes go wide, and before he can reply, Koushi waves, gets on his bicycle, and heads back up the hill to the market.

He didn’t even say _when_.

 

* * *

 

Tooru has never resented sticking to his Snap Out Of It Routine half so much. Every day, without fail, he leaves just after six to walk to the corner store, but Koushi doesn’t cycle past anymore. After leaving Tooru with a wink and a promise, Koushi just _hasn’t shown up_.

The last thing Tooru will do is give up. He can’t break routine, especially on school days, so he often doesn’t wait around for long. There is the chance that Koushi is there every day, five minutes after Tooru leaves—Tooru likes to imagine that Koushi waits for half an hour, with longing in his eyes and a bouquet of flowers surrounded by vegetables in his bike basket, before giving up and going home.

Serves him right for not showing up at 6:15.

It’s been two weeks now, so the flowers in his scenario would long since have wilted, but Tooru thinks that Koushi has enough sense to buy a new bunch every day. Tooru likes the idea of someone spending stupid amounts of money on him.

He wishes that he could say he was about to give up hope and go home when he hears the bicycle bell, but the truth is, it’s a Monday, so there’s no practice, and he can wait around as long as he likes. Koushi looks surprised to see him, but he stops of his own accord, balancing a few yams in his basket and getting off his bicycle slowly.

“Long time no see, Koushi-chan,” Tooru says. He tries not to sound bitter.

“Ah,” Koushi says, “please just call me Suga. That’s what everyone—”

“Request denied, Kou-chan!” Tooru says, cutting off a syllable just to be a nuisance.

Koushi pulls a gross face and looks no less stunning. It’s infuriating.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Tooru says, lying through his teeth, “but neither have you, am I right?”

“To be honest,” Koushi says, “I panicked after I realised I’d sort of asked you out on a date, and I’ve been taking a different route.”

Tooru stares at him.

“Although,” Koushi says, “you know where I live, so—”

“I was kicked out,” Tooru reminds him.

Koushi laughs. “That’s alright; I could get that reversed if you promise to behave.”

Tooru wants to hear Koushi telling him to behave again. He feels like a total perv and that’s something he needs to cover for quickly before his imagination starts to run away from him—he prides himself on the sort of family-friendly image that’ll get his face on lots of magazines once he’s playing for Japan, and such unwholesome thoughts are frequent but unwelcome.

“Well, it’s too early for ice cream,” Koushi continues. “Do you want a yam?”

There’s a pause.

“I’m joking!” Koushi says, sounding a bit contrite. “These are for the restaurant, anyway.”

Tooru decides to push his luck a bit. The trick to finding someone’s boundaries is to walk closer and closer until you sense you’ve stepped over the line. “This isn’t a very good date so far, Kou-chan,” he says.

“It isn’t much of a date at all,” Koushi says, “unless you’re basing your definition on two people in the same place at the same time.”

“I’m—”

Tooru cuts off at the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket. It’s Iwa-chan, who else.

“Should you get that?” Koushi asks.

“... no?” Tooru tries.

“Oikawa-san, you should probably—”

“Alright, alright,” Tooru says, pulling the phone out of his pocket and flicking to answer. He puts Iwa-chan on speaker.

“Are you still at the corner store?” Iwa-chan asks.

“It’s not seven yet,” Tooru says.

He can hear Iwa-chan move his phone away from his face to yell obscenities. “Explain to me why you think being a public nuisance is more constructive than having breakfast and brushing your teeth.”

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says slowly, “I’m on a _date_.”

“At half past six in the morning,” Iwa-chan says flatly.

Tooru catches Koushi’s gaze and rolls his eyes, and Koushi covers his mouth but doesn’t succeed in stifling his laugh.

“Oh my god,” Iwa-chan says, “there is actually someone else there. Oikawa, what are you _doing_.”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Tooru sings.

“Uh, Iwa-san?” Koushi says tentatively, leaning towards the phone. “You don’t need to worry. Oikawa-san is in safe hands.”

Tooru’s self-control fails, and he laughs until there are tears in his eyes. He almost drops his phone.

“This is surreal,” Iwa-chan says. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“You’re just jealous,” Tooru manages, before Iwa-chan hangs up.

“Is he alright?” Koushi asks.

Tooru gives a dramatic sigh. “He’ll be fine once he realises that I'm allowed to make my own choices.”

“Can I ask who… ?”

“Ah,” Tooru says.

He never really explained—and he doesn’t really want to, because if he tells Koushi why Iwa-chan was calling him, he’ll have to explain the whole routine thing, and that the reason he was so down in the first place was because he was sort of obsessing over Koushi and the #2 on his jersey and the way he nearly ruined Seijou’s chances at Inter High.

Tooru settles on the easy explanation. “Iwa-chan likes to think he’s my mother,” he says, “always checking up on me, and stuff like that.”

“While your real mother is busy starting fights in restaurants, I presume,” Koushi says.

“Right,” Tooru agrees.

Koushi blinks as though he’s just had an epiphany. “Wait, Iwa as in... Iwaizumi? From your team?”

Tooru nods.

“I called him Iwa-san,” Koushi says, putting his hands over his face. “I should go…”

“You don’t need to,” Tooru begins, but Koushi is already walking towards his bicycle.

“I’ll see you some other time, Oikawa-san… ?”

 _Call me Tooru_ , he thinks. “I’m sure you will, Kou-chan!” he says.

> To: Iwa-chan
> 
> (06:34) I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY YOU RUINED MY DATE ಥ⌣ಥ

 

* * *

 

There are two bicycles. Two bells coming over the hill, and two bicycles, and Tooru feels _betrayed_. It is at this point that he realises he may have crossed the line from a casual fixation to something a bit more serious.

They’ve only talked twice.

“Ah, Oikawa-san!” Koushi comes to a halt and jumps off his bicycle—that’s a good sign, at least. “I wondered when I might see you here.”

“It’s been a while,” Tooru acknowledges.

Iwa-chan decided that the routine had stopped being effective when Tooru had started twisting it to his own ends, so Tooru is back on a haphazard schedule. He doesn’t feel as good in the mornings, but the casual fixation had started to fade—until now.

“You’ve stopped your morning walks?” Koushi asks.

“Yeah,” Tooru says. “I’m just getting some milk.”

Then he notices the other cyclist. He narrows his eyes and smiles. “Ah, I didn’t see you there, Sawamura.”

Karasuno’s captain always gave Tooru the impression that he was a well-rounded sort—sociable, smart, and sporty—but right now he’s got a look on his face like a toddler being hypnotised.

Sawamura takes a moment before responding. “Should I ask how you two know each other?”

“Oikawa-san lives nearby,” Koushi explains. “We’re almost neighbours.”

“Almost neighbours” is an exaggeration, but Tooru thinks that if he casually mentioned that actually they’d been on a date this one time, sort of, Sawamura would have a heart attack. Tooru wonders if Koushi knows the implications of the word “date,” or if he’s just naturally such a tease, without even trying.

“You never mentioned,” Sawamura says.

Koushi shrugs. “It never came up.”

“No vegetables today?” Tooru asks, because he’s sick of Koushi not paying attention to him.

“No,” Koushi says, “I did the market run this morning.” He pauses, and glances at Sawamura. “I’m teaching this one to cycle.”

That explains why Sawamura looks so unsteady, shakily balanced with one foot on the ground. Tooru takes a moment to pity him. And then he sees an opening.

“We should go cycling some time, Kou-chan!” Tooru says.

Tooru has never seen someone choke on air before. Sawamura looks like he’s very keen to show him how it’s done.

“ _Kou-chan_?”

“Yeah, I don’t get it either,” Koushi says calmly. He turns to Tooru. “We should swap numbers, then, so we can work out a time.”

Tooru could do a lot of things with Koushi’s phone number, _least_ of all work out a time for them to meet up and go cycling.

“Sure,” he says. “Of course, I’ll have to fit it around volleyball practice!”

“So will I,” Koushi says. “Maybe we’ll finally have that date, though.”

Sawamura looks like he’s going to be ill. Koushi side-eye glances at him, and smiles just a bit slyly. Tooru has never enjoyed himself more.

“Surely we should do something more romantic for our first date, Kou-chan?”

There’s a glint in Koushi’s eyes that Tooru hasn’t seen before, and for the moment it doesn’t matter if they’re on the same page about the date thing—they are _definitely_ in agreement that, right now, they’re going to make Sawamura as uncomfortable as possible. Tooru finds it hard to believe that just a few minutes ago he was _jealous_.

Koushi hums. “I can’t go to a restaurant,” he says. “It hits a bit too close to home. Have you got any better ideas, Tooru-kun?”

“Tooru-kun” is what Chie called him, but it has the desired effect. Sawamura’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head.

“How about we meet here and then ride somewhere a bit more romantic?” Tooru suggests.

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Koushi says, handing Tooru his phone.

Tooru trades his phone across, and saves his number in Koushi’s phone. “You might want to call off the lessons with Captain Third Wheel over there for a bit,” he says. “Or at least get him a tricycle.”

Koushi laughs at that—a proper laugh, with his mouth wide open and his eyes closed. Tooru is struck by the overwhelming urge to kiss him. He feels silly. They’ve spoken twice. Three times, now. What would Iwa-chan say? What would his mum say?

“I’ll see you around,” Koushi says. It’s a phrase that’s becoming all too common for Tooru’s liking, but now it’s a _promise_ , a real one, and Koushi touches Tooru’s wrist lightly as he hands back his phone.

Tooru tries to stutter out a goodbye, but he’s just as tongue-tied as Sawamura now. He watches them ride off with his mouth hanging open a bit. He is in over his head.

He stays outside the corner store for a few moments, not too shocked to engage in a good bit of eavesdropping. From the other side of the wall, he can hear Sawamura yelling.

“If he’s just messing with you, I swear to god, Suga—”

“Eyes on the road!” Koushi shouts back, and then they’re too far for Tooru to make out their words.

And when he checks his phone on the walk home, he finds a new contact under the name “Kou-chan.”

 

* * *

 

Tooru is not the sort of person to spend hours in front of his mirror, trying on different outfits until he looks perfect for his date. So long as he’s had a shower and brushed his hair, all he needs to do is keep a smile on his face and he’ll be fine. He’s been told—by everyone other than Iwa-chan—that he has the sort of smile that adults are wary of but animals and small children love. He knows how to use it.

He’s running a little bit late, but it’s better than being the first one there. Koushi is merciless, and polite-but-pointed mockery is no way to start a date.

“And where do you think you’re going!”

Tooru pauses, his hand hovering over the door handle. “Corner store,” he says, flashing his mum a smile.

“Great,” she says, “pick up something nice for dessert while you’re there. Your sister’s coming over for dinner with Takeru.”

“Uh,” Tooru says. His fingers twitch over the handle. Apart from anything else, his _half_ -sister is probably the second-most annoying person Tooru knows. “I might not be around. I mean, I might be gone a while—”

“So you’re _not_ going to the corner store, huh?” his mum says. “Don’t think you can get out of this so easily. You know how Takeru idolises you.”

Unfortunately, this is something Tooru knows all too well. There’s one thing he can say to get his mum off his back, but he’s sort of been avoiding it because he knows exactly what her reaction will be. He takes a moment to consider his options.

Oh well.

“But _mum_ ,” he says, “I’ve got a _date_.”

Her countenance changes completely. “A date! Tooru, why didn’t you tell me? Who is it? Is it one of your friends from school? Are you getting back together with Chie-chan?”

“Someone else,” he says. “And before you ask—”

“Can I come and meet them?”

“—no, you can _not_ meet him.” Tooru sighs. “Anyway, don’t you have to stick around and be a good host?”

His mum sticks out her tongue. “You’re no fun! At least tell me if he’s cute or not!”

“Of _course_ he’s cute,” Tooru says, feeling a bit silly saying it out loud.

She looks like she’s about to pout, but then her expression softens. “Okay,” she says. “Go get him.”

Tooru salutes with one hand and pulls the door open with the other.

It’s not long to the corner store by bicycle, so Tooru dawdles a bit deliberately. The sun’s just setting, although he can barely see it through the clouds, but there’s something unaccountably romantic about sunsets and the way they turn people into poets. Tooru hasn’t thought much about the _depth_ of his feelings at this stage, but flirting puts him right in his element, so he can navigate this without worrying that he’ll mess something up.

It’s just a date.

Koushi is already waiting by the corner store, leaning against the wall with one hand on his bicycle’s handlebars. “You took your time,” he says. “Did you have trouble choosing an outfit?”

“I am _shocked_ and _offended_ by your accusations, Kou-chan,” Tooru says, jumping to the pavement and leaning his bicycle against the wall. 

“You look good, anyway,” Koushi says.

“I woke up like this,” Tooru says, flicking a bit of hair behind his ear.

“I wanted to apologise for the other day,” Koushi says, a sudden change of subject. “And the time before that. I was rude to Iwaizumi-san, and I think I made you uncomfortable when… well, Daichi didn’t seem too keen on the two of us hanging out, did he?”

“It’s only natural,” Tooru says. “We’re _rivals_ , after all.”

“Still,” Koushi says.

“Still?”

Koushi sighs. “You know, it’s weird that we’re even talking to each other. I kind of like that, though. It’s _dangerous_.”

Tooru wants to disagree, but that would involve admitting that actually he’s pretty harmless, which he is and isn’t, depending on his mood. He fixes his mouth into his most _dangerous_ grin.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type who takes risks, given how you are on court.”

“Ah,” Koushi says. “No, you’re right, I prefer things to be planned and structured. I guess it’s boring to always stick to a routine, huh?”

“Not really,” Tooru says. “If I didn’t come here every morning—”

He cuts himself off abruptly, before he says something embarrassing.

Koushi is grinning, though. “Let’s head off,” he says.

Before Tooru can reply, a large drop of rain lands on his shoulder.

“Weather permitting,” Koushi adds.

A second raindrop lands between them, broad and heavy as it turns the pavement a darker grey, and then a third on the hand that Koushi is using to steady his bicycle. Then it’s raining proper, the sort of downpour that follows a hot and humid day and has steam rising from the ground. Tooru has always loved the rain, and he leans his head back to let it fall on his face.

Koushi gives a giddy laugh. “Maybe we should go inside.”

“We should,” Tooru agrees, tilting his head forwards.

They don’t.

“Want to do something reckless?” Koushi asks.

This is the fourth time they’ve talked, not counting all the texting. This is the second time they’ve talked without anyone else present or any interruptions. This isn’t the longest they’ve ever been in each other’s company, but it will be. Tooru still can’t read the situation, so he takes charge. Ignoring the rain, he pulls out his phone and moves to stand by Koushi’s side.

“Let’s commemorate our first date, Kou-chan,” he says, opening the camera app.

“Second,” Koushi corrects, his eyes sparkling with a teasing smile.

“That doesn’t count,” Tooru says, and he slips his free arm around Koushi’s shoulder and leans down slightly so that their heads are at the same level and they both fit on the screen. “It’s not a date if there’s no kissing.”

Koushi kisses him.

Tooru barely has time to pull his fingers into a peace sign before he takes a picture. There’s water on his phone screen—that’s _got_ to be bad—but he does nothing to stop it. His eyes are closed but he can feel the rain pooling on his eyelashes, running down his nose and getting lost on his lips. His clothes cling to him like a second skin. He feels _electric_.

“Was that reckless enough?” Tooru asks.

“Kissing in the rain,” Koushi muses. “It’s like something out of a movie.”

“Let’s do it again,” Tooru says.

Koushi frowns. “I’m getting kind of cold,” he says. He takes Tooru’s hand and leads him into the corner store, abandoning their bicycles to the storm.

The rain seems to fall harder now that they’re sheltered.

“Caught in the rain?” the clerk behind the counter asks.

“Yeah,” Koushi says. “It’s really coming down out there.”

“Feel free to wait it out,” the clerk replies.

They move between the aisles, Tooru wiping his phone on the hem of his shirt. It’s still in working order, and when the screen is dry enough he swipes across to the photo he took. He’s almost taken aback by how perfect the photo is, even though there’s a smudge from rain on the camera.

“Can I see?” Koushi asks.

“I’ll print a copy for you,” Tooru says. He doesn’t want to share this. Not yet.

Koushi raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t quibble. “Alright. Let’s buy something so it doesn’t seem weird and then… then we’ll go somewhere.”

Tooru turns to the nearest shelf. It’s stocked with bathroom things, like combs and mirrors and bottles of hand cream. He settles on a pack of two coiled hair ties—they’re plastic, sparkly, and brightly-coloured, one green and one pink. “We can take one each,” he says.

“That’s cute,” Koushi says. “Somehow, I didn’t have you pegged as such a romantic.”

“Anything else I can do to surprise you?” Tooru asks.

He doesn’t wait for an answer before kissing Koushi, wrapping a hand around and pressing the hair ties into his back, dipping him so they look like a couple in a movie poster. Koushi’s elbow knocks a box of cotton buds to the floor, and Tooru almost overbalances, steadying himself against the shelves.

“Everything alright back there?” the clerk calls.

“It’s fine!” Koushi calls back, shoving a hand over Tooru’s mouth—probably a wise move, given that otherwise he’d be giggling like a child. He retaliates by licking the palm of Koushi’s hand.

“Ew,” Koushi says. “You’re ridiculous, Oikawa—”

Tooru pulls Koushi’s hand free and kisses him again.

Outside, the rain starts to let up.

 

* * *

 

Iwa-chan is not impressed. He tries very hard to be the sort of person who isn’t impressed by anything, but he’ll never be on the same level as Mattsun and Makki, who catch the train together and make fun of strangers in the flattest, most impartial voices. Iwa-chan can be unimpressed, although usually he’s hiding a laugh.

But Tooru has never seen him quite so unimpressed as he is now.

“Oikawa. Are you an _idiot_?”

Tooru laughs. “Are you stand there all day?”

“I’m going to shut the door in your face, is what I’m going to do,” Iwa-chan says.

“Iwa-chan is so harsh,” Tooru says. “I invited you to _my_ house; the least you could do would be to show me some courtesy!”

“You invited me here to meet your boyfriend,” Iwa-chan says. “I’m not meeting him, Oikawa. I’m not interested.”

Iwa-chan is not only not interested in romance, he’s not interested in befriending people from other volleyball clubs. Tooru supposes he ought to admire Iwa-chan’s commitment, but now it’s just annoying.

“We’re not meeting him here,” Tooru explains. “We’re going to the corner store. That’s where we always meet.”

Also, Iwa-chan probably doesn’t want to admit that Tooru has been in a much better mood lately.

“I don’t know if you’re quite understanding,” Iwa-chan says slowly. “He goes to _Karasuno_. He _plays on their team_. What are you going to do if we face them at Spring High?”

“As if they’ll get high enough to face us!” Tooru says, all false bravado. If they’re lucky, Karasuno will get knocked out by Shiratorizawa early on and they won’t even have to think about a rematch.

“You’re putting yourself in a position,” Iwa-chan says.

“Are you going to come meet him or not?”

Their staring contest lasts forty-three seconds before Iwa-chan blinks.

“Fuck!” he snaps. “Fine, Oikawa, you win. I’ll meet your goddamn boyfriend.”

Tooru grins. “I knew you would!”

He calls out to his mum to let him know he’s leaving and rushes Iwa-chan down the steps and out the front gate. They do the ten minute walk in seven, and Koushi isn’t even there yet. It’s another five minutes before he comes up from the bottom of the hill, his bicycle bell signalling his arrival.

“Were you waiting long?” Koushi asks.

“Not long at all, Kou-chan!” Tooru says. He pauses, looking between his best friend and his boyfriend. “I think you’ve spoken to Iwa-chan before… ?”

“Iwaizumi-san,” Koushi says, “I am sorry about the circumstances of our last, uh, conversation. I was a bit forward—”

“It’s fine,” Iwa-chan says, cutting him off with a slightly grudging edge to his voice. “You weren’t to know.”

“At least introduce yourselves properly!” Tooru says. He hopes they can hear just how anguished he is. He needs them to get along.

Predictably, Koushi makes the first effort. “Sugawara Koushi—but please, just call me Suga.”

“Iwaizumi Hajime. I—”

Iwa-chan pauses, his mouth twisting into a frown.

“I hope you know what you’re doing with this one.”

He thumbs a gesture at Tooru, and Tooru brings his hand up his mouth in shock. “I am _aghast_ , Iwa-chan!”

Koushi sticks a hand out and covers Tooru’s hand, pressing it against his mouth, shutting him up like it’s nothing. “Oikawa-kun is easy to manage once you know how.”

“Yeah,” Iwa-chan says, a bit surprised. “Yeah, he is.”

Koushi removes his hand, but Tooru’s stays right where it is.

“And if he starts freaking out, you talk to him about volleyball to get him back on track, right?” Koushi continues.

Iwa-chan laughs. “Yeah, now I _know_ you’re new to this. What do you do if he starts freaking out about volleyball?”

“You’ll have to give me all of your tips,” Koushi says.

“Well, it’s better than letting the situation get out of hand,” Iwa-chan says.

“Out of hand?” Koushi asks.

Tooru lets his arm drop as soon as he’s sure his mouth isn’t hanging open.

Iwa-chan shrugs. “You know how he is. His moods change faster than traffic lights.”

“At least traffic lights are consistent,” Koushi jokes, and Iwa-chan has the nerve to laugh, harder than before.

“I’m _right here_ ,” Tooru says—just in case they’d forgotten.

“Don’t worry,” Koushi says. “I think it’s charming.”

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says forcefully, grabbing Koushi’s arm, “do you see this boy here? I’m replacing you with him. You can leave now. Goodbye!”

“Fine,” Iwa-chan says. “Have a good life.”

“I will,” Tooru says, sticking his tongue out.

Koushi laughs awkwardly. Tooru stops thinking for a moment, and turns to stare at Koushi. He’s stupidly beautiful when he laughs. He has the sort of face that could solve international conflicts, never mind winning Iwa-chan over in such a short time.

“Anyway,” Koushi says, “I have to get back. I’m working front of house tonight.”

“Does that mean you get to wear a cute uniform?” Tooru asks.

“If you want me to,” Koushi says calmly.

“Oh, wow, okay,” Iwa-chan says. “Yeah, you get back to wherever it is you work. I did _not_ need to hear that.”

Tooru is blushing too hard to move. Iwa-chan has to physically prise his fingers off Koushi’s arm. Koushi does not look in the least bit apologetic.

“I’ll text you later?” Koushi says, as Iwa-chan drags Tooru by the sleeve.

“You’d better!” Tooru shouts.

When they’re halfway back to Tooru’s house, Iwa-chan breaks the silence.

“I shouldn’t have judged him so quickly,” he says. “He’s good for you. Even though the two of you are _disgusting_ and should _not_ be allowed in the same room—”

“Iwa-chan! Is this an _apology_?”

Iwa-chan sighs. “It’s an _acknowledgement_ that maybe I was too quick to judge.”

“That means a lot,” Tooru says. “Really.”

“Idiot,” Iwa-chan says. “Of course it does.”

 

* * *

 

Tooru’s mum always used to tell him that any situation can be improved by looking at it from a different angle. He’s been feeling weird lately, like something in his life that was once slotted neatly into place has fallen loose, just a bit, but walking from the bottom of the hill to the corner store does give him some sort of comfort, even though it’s nearing midnight.

“Thanks for coming,” Koushi says. “It can get a bit lonely when everyone else is working in the restaurant and I’m meant to be doing homework.”

“You’re far too smart for homework,” Tooru says. “I’m just glad I could… be of _service_.”

Koushi practically _giggles_ —it’s obscene how much that gets to Tooru, even after a whole night of accustoming himself to the obscene things Koushi makes him think.

“You’re welcome to come by any time,” Koushi says. “Just text me first to make sure that my parents are out.”

Tooru nods. He still hasn’t invited Koushi to his house, for two reasons: one, he is terrified of introducing Koushi to his mum and, two, he has the picture of them kissing in the rain pinned to his photo wall, and he’s still not ready to share it.

“I like your bedroom,” he says. “Did I mention that? Nice furniture, thick walls…”

“Tooru!” Koushi shrieks, elbowing him in the ribs. “Don’t joke about that. If my parents found out where the spare uniform went—”

“They’ll _never know_ ,” Tooru says mysteriously. “Tell them a ghost took it!”

Koushi pulls a face.

Tooru responds with ghost noises.

Koushi takes his hand. “I said thanks. Didn’t I?”

“You did,” Tooru says.

They reach the plateau on the hill where the left turn at the corner store leads to Tooru’s house. The store is long since closed, and the only light comes from a street lamp further down the road. “I guess this is where we part ways,” Koushi says.

Tooru kisses him, even though his lips are sore and his legs feel like they could collapse beneath him at any moment.

“Are you feeling better?” Koushi asks.

“Better?”

Koushi shrugs. “You looked sort of down earlier. Before we… you know.”

“I’m fine,” Tooru says. He grins. “No need to worry!”

“If you’re sure,” Koushi says.

“I’m sure,” Tooru says.

Koushi sighs, and wraps his arms around Tooru’s waist. “I know you can look after yourself—”

Wrong.

“—and I know you don’t need me to tell you this—”

Wrong.

“—but I am here, if you ever need to talk.”

“I know, Koushi,” Tooru says.

Wrong.

“I’ll see you later, then,” Koushi says.

Tooru pulls Koushi closer to him. Neither of them have to say anything. It’s a cool night, with no wind to blow them apart. Tooru doesn’t need much more than this.

He walks home slowly, trying not to think about how readily Koushi had picked up on his mood. They were having a good evening. It had been fun. They didn’t need to bring Tooru’s weird mood blip into the picture.

When Tooru gets home he’s prepared to walk on his toes, but there’s a light coming from his mum’s study. Pushing open the door, he finds her bent over her laptop, reading something closely. He clears his throat. “You’re up late.”

“Work to do,” she says, scrolling down. She lowers the laptop screen and swivels around in her chair. “How was your date?”

“Fine,” he says.

“Don’t stay up too late,” his mum warns. “You have school tomorrow.”

“I know,” Tooru says.

He says goodnight, but he’s nowhere near tired. When he gets to his room, he slides down in front of his computer and slips on his headphones. He keeps his replay DVDs on the shelf by the computer, organised alphabetically by winning team and then by point margin, ordered first from the final set and working backwards.

His fingers hover over the matches that his own team has won, and then the ones with a two-point margin in the third set.

The victory over Karasuno at Inter High was close—too close for Tooru’s liking—but it was _rewarding_ , too. It was the first time he’d seen Koushi, after all. He puts the disc into his computer and clicks play.

He watches the start of the match with a sort of detached boredom. Before he can stop himself, he’s skipping ahead. He holds his breath when Koushi is swapped in. Koushi is just as beautiful as he was twenty minutes ago, and even though it’s hard to make him out in detail, Tooru’s heart stops. Every movement Koushi makes gives Tooru cause to lean in closer to the screen.

That’s when he realises—if Koushi was on the bench, he’d be watching the bench.

“So how am I going to concentrate on the game?” he mutters, slowly taking off his headphones and resting them on his knee.

Volleyball without sound is _wrong_. It’s like watching ghosts walking on snow and leaving no footprints. It’s like a star moving without a trail behind it. Tooru keeps his eyes fixed on Koushi and tries to follow the tracks he makes.

“What am I meant to do about this?” he asks his empty room.

In response, the Tooru on the screen steps up for his serve. He watches Koushi miss his second serve. Tooru flops backwards, his head hitting the floor softly. The room feels like it’s buzzing. Tooru doesn’t know how to do this, or even what’s he’s meant to be doing in the first place.

From his vantage point, he can see the light fitting in the ceiling, the boxes of lego under his bed, the bottom edge of his picture wall. Looking at it from a new angle helps a bit. He closes his eyes.

His phone beeps: one new message. He sticks his arm out, reaching blindly for the top of the shelf beside his desk. His phone screen is too bright in the dark.

> From: Kou-chan ♡♡♡
> 
> (00:48) Want to come to the restaurant for dinner tomorrow? I just found out we’ve had a cancellation.

Tooru stares at his phone for a moment, blinking. He types a reply:

> Sorry, I can’t make it.

He hits backspace.

 

* * *

 

Tooru is, technically, asleep. For all intents and purposes, he is in bed and he has his eyes closed, and no-one in the world knows that he is awake. He hasn’t slept in for months, maybe over a year, and now it’s eleven in the morning on a Saturday and he feels strangely vindicated in the knowledge that no-one knows he’s been awake since five-thirty.

There’s a shaft of light coming in through his window and cutting out a rectangle on the photo wall, so if he opens his eyes he can see the picture of him and Iwa-chan on their first day of high school, the two of them with Makki and Mattsun, in their pyjamas and pulling duckfaces in the communal bedroom at their last training camp, his mum posing in front of Tokyo Tower, and him and Koushi kissing in the rain outside the corner store.

His phone vibrates. He usually sets it on silent overnight—he must have forgotten. He’s been falling into bad habits lately. Iwa-chan wonders if it has something to do with the upcoming Spring High Tournament. It’s only a few days away. Tooru refuses to be bullied into picking up his routine again, though.

“Go away,” he tells his phone, rolling over.

He buries his head in his pillow and imagines for a moment that he doesn’t exist. It doesn’t work. He’s too beautiful to stop existing.

The phone vibrates again, more insistently.

“Not today, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says into the pillow.

He gives in, though, extending an arm to grab his phone and propping himself up on his elbows. The messages aren’t from Iwa-chan.

> From: Kou-chan ♡♡♡
> 
> (11:01) I’ll be at the corner store in half an hour.
> 
> (11:03) You don’t have to reply.

Tooru stops breathing for a few seconds. It’s the first contact they’ve had since he was at Koushi’s house two weeks ago. Tooru had been getting good at not thinking about him, putting him in the back of his mind as something that he’ll deal with after Spring High.

He was never really gone, though.

Tooru throws his covers off and lets his phone skitter across the floor as he pulls yesterday’s outfit from the top of the washing basket. He’s dressed in seconds and, picking up his phone and shoving it in his pocket, he runs to the bathroom and squeezes toothpaste straight into his mouth. When he’s done, he runs for the door.

“Good morning?” his mum asks, sticking her head out of the living room. Tooru can hear a drama playing on the TV from the other side of the wall.

“Can’t stop to talk,” he says. “See you later!”

He doesn’t run, because he doesn’t want Koushi to see him out of breath—not in this circumstance, anyway. He needs to appear composed, even though his mind has been in overdrive with possible scenarios.

There’s no-one there when he arrives, so he leans nonchalantly against the wall to wait. It’s five minutes before he hears footsteps coming up the hill from the other side of the store—it’s not Koushi, though. It’s just some boy.

“Oikawa-san?” the boy starts, turning to him.

Tooru narrows his eyes. “Who are _you_.”

He laughs. “Ah, my name is Ennoshita. I’m from Karasuno Volleyball Club, but I don’t expect you to recognise me.”

“And why are you here?” Tooru demands.

“It’s a bit of a funny story,” Ennoshita says.

“I haven’t got all day,” Tooru says.

Ennoshita rolls his eyes. Tooru decides that he does not like Ennoshita.

“Suga-san wanted me to drop something off with you,” Ennoshita says. “It was sort of short notice, but I live a few houses down from him, so I don’t really mind. He’s busy at the restaurant, but he said you’d know what this was about. I sure don’t.”

Tooru’s stomach sinks. He knows.

“I didn’t even know you guys knew each other,” Ennoshita continues, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I guess he wouldn’t want to tell the rest of the team that he’s friendly with someone from Seijou, let alone—”

Ennoshita pauses, looking a bit apologetic.

“—let alone the captain.”

“He doesn’t have to tell you everything,” Tooru snaps.

Ennoshita extends his hand. Between his fingers is a green coiled hair tie. “I don’t know what you want this for,” he says, “but Suga-san wanted you to know that he doesn’t need it back.”

Tooru doesn’t take it. He looks desperately at Ennoshita’s hand in the hope that maybe he’s seeing things. He knew what it would be, though, and he can’t bring himself to respond. Koushi said he’d meet him here. It would almost be better if Koushi did it himself. It would hurt less.

He remembers a conversation he had with Iwa-chan once. “That’s what you get when you treat people like shit,” Iwa-chan said, “they treat you like shit right back.”

Iwa-chan had paused, giving Tooru the closest he’d get to a fond nudge. “And usually you deserve it.”

Tooru wants to think that no-one deserves this.

“Are you alright?” Ennoshita asks.

“No,” Tooru says, feeling his boundaries slipping. “No, I’m—”

“Hey,” Ennoshita says, “I don’t know what this is about, but… don’t shoot the messenger, okay? If Suga-san asked me to give this to you, he must have had a good reason.”

Ennoshita has a weirdly reassuring smile. Tooru decides that he doesn’t mind Ennoshita.

He grabs the hair tie before he can change his mind.

“He does,” Tooru says. “Koushi has a _very_ good reason.”

“I guess I’ll head off, then,” Ennoshita says. He looks uncomfortable. Tooru doesn’t blame him. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah,” Tooru says. “I’m not great at that.”

Ennoshita doesn’t move. “Uh, if you’re not feeling well… my sister has anxiety, and she does this thing with an elastic around her wrist where she snaps it every time she starts feeling anxious. Maybe you can use the hair tie for that?”

Tooru stares at Ennoshita.

“Sorry,” Ennoshita says, “it’s just a suggestion.”

“Thanks,” Tooru says, slipping the hair tie onto his wrist. He tries to keep his voice steady, because he knows he’s about to cry, and he doesn’t want that to get back to Karasuno.

“Well, bye,” Ennoshita says.

Tooru waits five minutes, six, maybe seven, until he’s sure Ennoshita is well out of earshot. _Then_ he cries.

His head droops forward like all his muscles have given up, decided that his body isn’t worth supporting. He pushes the heels of his palms onto his closed eyes until he’s seeing brightly-coloured dots on a backdrop of black.

He can feel snot dripping out of his nose and mixing with his tears, so he pulls one hand free and wipes it across his mouth, but with his eyes open, he can see the hair tie around his wrist, and he lets out a sob.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the empty street. “I fucked up.”

 _Kou-chan fucked up too_ , he thinks.

Suddenly vindictive, Tooru pulls his phone from his pocket and unlocks it with a wet finger. He types a message to Koushi and hits send quickly.

> To: Kou-chan ♡♡♡
> 
> (11:51) Thanks

He pulls the case off his phone, his hands shaking, and throws it onto the road. He takes the back off and rips out the battery. He lets it fall and watches it hit the pavement with a satisfying clap. Then he steps on it, grinds it into the ground and kicks it away. He takes the SD card, with all his photos on it, out of his phone and puts it safely in his pocket.

He throws the shell of his phone against the wall of the corner store—the screen shatters on impact, falling in shards, and the rest comes clattering in its wake. It’s a service ace.

“Thanks,” he says.

He gives the hair tie around his wrist a harsh tug and turns to walk home.

 

* * *

 

Tooru wakes up just before six and checks his phone. No new messages. Not so many people have his new number. Putting his phone aside, he swings his legs over the edge of his bed and rests his feet on the cold floor for a moment before standing. It’s almost slipper weather.

The sky is cloudless and dark, but it looks windy, so Tooru puts on a pair of knee socks under his jeans. He chooses an innocuous shirt and his volleyball jersey, and slips his green and pink hair ties around his left wrist, pulling the jersey’s sleeve down to cover them.

He closes the door lightly so that he doesn’t wake his mum, but he lets the front gate creak. It’s a ten minute walk to the corner store, but he does it in twelve. And then he’ll turn around and walk home, eat breakfast in the back garden, brush his teeth for three minutes by the egg timer, and wait for Iwa-chan to call him at seven to make sure that he’s stuck to the routine.

Iwa-chan has been nothing but supportive of Tooru taking up his routine again. Actually, Iwa-chan has been nothing but supportive in general. He likes to act all detached, like he doesn’t really care what happens to Tooru. He’d yelled at Tooru for letting go of Koushi, though.

“He was _good for you_.”

“You said I was putting myself in a position!” Tooru had countered.

“I took that back,” Iwa-chan had said, sounding a bit hopeless. “I gave you my _approval_.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Tooru had joked.

He pauses by the corner store, glancing at the scratch in its paintwork. It feels like a lifetime since he threw his phone at the wall and made that scratch—but, between then and now, Spring High happened.

He’s so busy staring at the wall that he doesn’t hear the bicycle bell.

“Oikawa-san?”

He turns sharply away from the wall and points a finger at Koushi—who else? “What are you doing here?”

Koushi’s eyes are wide and there’s an unreadable look on his face. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then he closes it again.

“It's—ah, actually it’s a bit after quarter-past. I had to pick up some scallions,” he says, gesturing to his bicycle basket. The green stalks stick out like a miniature garden.

“Right,” Tooru says.

“And I guess you’re on your morning walk,” Koushi continues. “I haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“You've been coming by every day?” Tooru asks. He doesn't really think that Koushi missed him, but imagining it makes him feel a bit better about the whole thing.

“The other route isn't as nice,” Koushi says.

Tooru doesn’t reply straight away. They look at each other, but there’s none of the fire that was in Koushi’s expression that Tooru remembers from the moment when they locked eyes across the net at Spring High.

Neither is there any of the familiarity that they used to have. It sets Tooru on edge. Reflexively, he reaches under his sleeve and tugs at the green hair tie.

“And this way,” Koushi says, “there’s always room for coincidence.”

“Sorry,” Tooru says. He doesn’t know what else to say.

Koushi frowns. “Yeah, I wasn’t too happy that you just stopped texting.”

“You have to understand,” Tooru says, trying to lighten his tone, “Spring High was coming up. I couldn’t face you on the court—couldn’t face _Karasuno_ —if we were…”

“I understand _why_ ,” Koushi says. He sounds disappointed. “I think you could have handled it a bit better, though.”

Tooru holds up his wrist and rolls down his sleeve. “You could have given this back without a middleman,” he snaps.

He shouldn’t have snapped.

“How is that worse,” Koushi says, more exasperated than angry, “ _how_ is that worse than finding out, without you even having to _tell_ me, that I’ll always come second to _volleyball_?”

Tooru’s mouth drops open. He quickly fixes it into a smile. “Kou-chan, if by coming second you’re referring to the number on your shirt—”

Koushi laughs. Tooru tries not to react—he doesn’t need Koushi to know just how much he missed his laugh.

“Oikawa,” Koushi says, “if you’re just going to joke around, I’ll leave.”

Tooru has never done anything like this before. Letting it all just fall to pieces would probably be easier, but he didn’t get where he is by always taking the easy option. He searches for the right tone—somewhere between contrition and flattery.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Tell me,” Koushi says, “am I always going to come second?”

 _No_ , Tooru wants to say. No, because Tooru has a lifetime of volleyball ahead of him, because he’ll play in so many more matches before he’s done, whether old age or his knee injury comes for him first, and because there’s only one Sugawara Koushi.

“It’s different,” Tooru says. “You’re not volleyball. We’re probably never going to play against each other again.”

“That’s not a very compelling argument,” Koushi says. He looks sort of amused, though—surely that’s a good sign?

“You don’t _need_ to be volleyball,” Tooru adds.

“Thanks?”

Tooru runs a hand through his hair. He wants to fix this, but at this point he’s just digging himself a hole. He looks sideways at the scratch on the wall of the corner store.

He wants to tell Koushi that before they met properly, Koushi had distracted him in a volleyball match to the extent that he couldn’t think of anything else; that when they finally spoke, Koushi had been less and more than he’d expected; that his life had _changed_ and that he didn’t know how to put that into words without feeling disingenuous.

Instead, he takes his phone out of his pocket.

“On our first date,” he says, “I took a photo.”

He opens the picture of the two of them kissing in the rain, and hands it to Koushi. Koushi takes the phone with a gasp, and he doesn’t breathe for a while after that. Tooru watches him keenly, waiting for a reaction.

“Tooru—”

“It was my wallpaper for a bit,” Tooru says, “but Iwa-chan made me change it when we—when _I_ stopped talking to you.”

“Showing me this doesn’t make up for weeks of neglect,” Koushi says.

Tooru isn’t convinced. “You’ll forgive me eventually, Kou-chan.”

Koushi gets that smile on his face that means he’s probably already two steps ahead of Tooru. “And why is that?”

“Because I’m _irresistible_ ,” Tooru says.

“You are so full of it,” Koushi says.

“Hmm,” Tooru says, “that’s not what you said when—”

“Tooru!” Koushi laughs, and hands Tooru back his phone. “Why do I even _tolerate_ you?”

“I don’t know,” Tooru says. “I don’t even know how I tolerate _myself_ , sometimes.”

Koushi sighs, but he’s smiling. There’s a sort of comfortable silence between them, like maybe they can’t immediately go back to how they were, but they _will_.

“I did miss you,” Tooru admits. “Every time I think about you, I snap the green hair tie.”

Koushi reaches forward and takes Tooru’s hand, threading his fingers around the hair tie. “That’s a good system,” he says. “What’s the pink one for?”

“Everything else,” Tooru says.

“Well, then you won’t be needing the green one anymore,” Koushi says, stretching it to fit it over Tooru’s hand. He puts it on his own wrist, and then takes Tooru’s hand again.

“You’re more than I deserve, Koushi,” Tooru says.

“I know,” Koushi says, “but you’re just right for me.”

“So that means—”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Tooru leans forward and rests his forehead against Koushi’s. “I won’t,” he says.

It doesn’t need to be perfect—not yet—it just needs to work. They could spend the rest of their lives doing nothing but meeting every morning at the corner store, or they could run away together to the other side of the world. Tooru would be happy either way.

“Hey,” Koushi says. “We should re-enact that photo.”

A gust of wind blows down the street, and a scallion falls out of Koushi’s bicycle basket. At the top of the hill, the sun rises, and three blocks down, the Sugawara family restaurant starts preparing for the lunch crowd. A ten minute walk north, Tooru’s mum waits for him to come home from his morning walk.

Outside the corner store, Tooru kisses Koushi like he knows it won’t be the last time.

It isn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you thought!
> 
> A few notes and background;
> 
>   * Many many thanks to my beta readers: Viv, for advice and inspiration, and Gabe, for checking over the final product!
>   * Also thanks to the OiSuga fandom as a collective for the "Kou-chan" headcanon, which I totally repurposed for my own ends.
>   * In case you're wondering, [these](http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51XGnnufYpL._SY300_.jpg) are pretty much what the hair ties look like.
>   * A lot of my Tooru headcanon is heavily influenced by his namesake and my childhood heroine Honda Tohru (who also lends her name to Honda-jiisan). Once I saw the connection, I couldn't let it go. So, that's sort of where his mother comes from. I have a lot more headcanon about her, and about the Oikawa family in general, which I just couldn't fit in here. This is just the tip of the iceberg. (Ask me about my headcanon.)
>   * Perhaps some of the sentiment of that last scene is going to be jossed by future events in the manga. Let's just hope everything still makes sense.
> 



End file.
